


Moment's Peace

by GlowingMechanicalHeart



Series: Fictober20 [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, POV Sandor Clegane, Post-Canon, fictober20, post a dream of spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/pseuds/GlowingMechanicalHeart
Summary: Falling in love with her, truly falling in love with her had surprised him. The fact that Sansa loved him back, made Sandor question the sense of the Gods – if they were any. She deserved better, someone who was a better man than him, but Sansa had persisted and he – weak as he was – could not find it in him to fight her away.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Fictober20 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974964
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Fictober20





	Moment's Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober-Event, prompt #16.- I never wanted anything else

Sansa and Sandor sat in a branch beneath the Heart Tree, snow was falling softly around them, they held hands and the silence they found themselves in was a comfortable one. After everything, they didn’t need to fill it with words.

They – well Sandor, had escaped the bustle of Winterfell and Sansa had joined him a few minutes later, their wedding was fast approaching and, the whole castle was a flurry of activity that left Sandor’s head spinning. Sansa took it all with her usual grace and aplomb. Sandor wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten so lucky, but he wasn’t about to analyze it for too long.

They had survived the war of the five kings, the war against the white walkers and now, peace was settling in. The kingdom was once again seven kingdoms and, peace was so far holding on. Bran, Sansa’s brother had been declared King of Winter and much to his own surprise, Sandor had been welcomed into Winterfell at his service. Well, more at the service of Sansa, because she was the one Sandor knew he could serve easily, without any prompting.

Falling in love with her, truly falling in love with her had surprised him. The fact that Sansa loved him back, made Sandor question the sense of the Gods – if they were any. She deserved better, someone who was a better man than him, but Sansa had persisted and he – weak as he was – could not find it in him to fight her away.

And so, here they were, days out from their wedding. Sandor knew, that Bran planned to give them the Dreadfort, well, it was more like giving Sansa the Dreadfort and he’ll simply be her husband and whatever else his little bird saw fit for him to be.

“Since Gregor burnt me,” Sandor broke the silence, “I’ve only ever wanted to kill him. I never wanted anything else. I simply wanted his death by my hand.”

Sansa squeezed his hand. “Yes, I figured it as much.” Sandor understood that she had grown wise in the years they’ve been apart. She’d grown in beauty too. “I remember when Joffrey made you kingsguard, you spoke of not leaving wife or lands. I always wondered why you mentioned that.”

Sandor shrugged, “It was the truth. I had no wife to leave behind nor any lands, so, why not? It was a great feeling, that it was me and not my brother who’ve been offered the post. But I still wanted to kill him.”

“You had your chance,” Sansa said. “Back at the turney of the Hand, but you didn’t.”

Sandor said nothing for a while. “Maybe I wasn’t ready yet.”

“Or maybe you knew, even if it was deep down, that his death would not made you feel good. It would’ve been justice, but you’d still be a kinslayer. Your brother was the monster of House Clegane, not you.”

“You give me far too much credit. I simply knew that it wasn’t the right place or the time. I’d have killed him in battle, but a tourney? That was far too easy.”

“Well, I for once, am glad that you did not.”

They fell into silence once more, Sandor turned to look at the face at the Tree, it never failed to unnerve him, but this was simply a tree. One of the Old Gods, one of the things Sansa worship and prayed at their foot, it would hardly do to falter and let his unease take hold of him. He had been a man of the North for some years now and he would be so, for the rest of his life now that he was marrying Sansa.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Sandor spoke again. “I don’t deserve you, Little bird.”

Sansa turned to look at him, those bright blue eyes serious. “When I was young, my father was going to break the betrothal between Joffrey and I, he wanted a man who was ‘kind, gentle and strong’. I, being a foolish girl who fancied herself in love, said that I wanted Joffrey. Look at where it got me.” She raised her hand, preventing him from speaking. “What happened wasn’t my fault, I know that now. It was Cersei, Joffrey, Petyr and the others. So listen to me Sandor, I met many high lords and lordlings, some of them were good, others bad, others neither. I was treated as a piece, something to be won at the highest bidding and I’m sick of it.

“The day I found out that Bran and Rickon were alive, it was the happiest day of my life because I knew that I had been pushed down the succession. That I wasn’t the heiress they all wanted. I once thought, ‘No one will love me for myself’. You do. And that’s what I want.”

Sandor was silent for a few moments again, then sighed and said, “There are many Northen sons…”

“Whose fathers left me in King’s Landing, and who agreed with Robb to disinherit me for a sin not of my doing. No, I will not have them. That would be rewarding that. Bran knows, so do Rickon and Arya. They understand and they agree that, after every would-be marriage I’ve been through, I should be the one to pick my husband. And I picked you. Is that not enough?”

Sandor looked down at their hands. “It’s more than enough, Little bird,” his voice was soft. “More than what I ever deserved or ever will. But I do love you and always will, and I will be at your side until I die and only then will I leave you. Unless you tire of me and cast me aside.”

Sansa lifted his face and smiled gently. “Never. I will never let you leave. We’ll have to change the name of the castle, I refuse to call it the Dreadfort. Not for me, it won’t do.”

Sandor laughed, but he knew that Sansa was right. The Dreadfort’s name echoed the history of battle, of the terrible things done by the Boltons, of the betrayal that came at the cost of Sansa’s own brother and Mother. It would hardly do for Sansa to rule over it with that name. “The Wolf’s Den.” He said, looking at Sansa. “It’s a historic name, with ties to the Starks. Besides, it would always say that there’s a wolf there.”

“That the children of my body will rule it, that we are another branch from the same tree,” Sansa said, smiling. “I like that.” She stood. “Come, let us tell Bran about it.”

“Go ahead, I’ll stay here a minute more. I’ll catch up.” Sandor said and watched as Sansa began making her way back to Winterfell. He stood and turned to face the Heart Tree. Its eyes and mouth seeped the red sap so much like blood. “I’ll take good care of her,” he said. “I swear it. Tell that to her father and mother if you can.” 

Sandor turned and began following in Sansa’s footsteps. A feeling of peace settling in his spirit. He had found his home. Sansa was.


End file.
